by Frank Zafiro
“Thanks for your help tonight, ma’am.”
“Okay,” she said and slid the window shut.
“She’ll think this was all a dream in the morning,” Sully chuckled. He squatted down and flashed his own light into the interior of the doghouse. “Empty,” he reported.
Battaglia nodded and took the suspect by the shoulder. “Let’s go, Rover.” They lead him back to the car, where Battaglia removed the man’s wallet.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“Finding out who you are.” Battaglia removed the man’s driver’s license and dropped the wallet on the hood of the car. Then he reached for his shoulder mike. “Adam-122 to Adam-112.”
“Twelve, go ahead.”
“Tom, can you contact the complainant and ask her if she knows a guy by the name of Victor Preissing.”
“Affirm.”
Battaglia switched to the data channel and gave the dispatcher Preissing’s information for a warrant check.
“What’s your story?” Sully asked Preissing.
“No story,” Preissing told him. “I’m, uh, just out for a walk.”
“Just out for a walk?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why you ducked back in the alley when you saw our car, huh?”
“I didn’t duck into the alley. I was already headed this way.”
“Headed on your way to go hide in a dog house, were ya? I could probably work up a burglary charge on that.”
Preissing’s shoulders slumped. “I got scared when I saw the lights.”
“Why?”
He licked his lips. “I’m from L.A. The cops used to beat me up all the time for no reason. So I got scared.”
Sully snorted in disbelief.
“No shit,” Preissing said.
“No,” Sully answered. “Just shit. Where are you walking to tonight?”
“Just around. Taking a walk.”
Sully’s radio crackled as Chisolm checked out on scene at the complainant’s residence.
Battaglia read Sully the address on Preissing’s license.
“That’s clear on the other side of town,” Sully said. “Why are you way over here taking a walk?”
“It’s a free country.”
“That,” Sully told him, “is known in police parlance as a non-answer. It indicates deception.”
Preissing shrugged and swallowed nervously.
“I’ll ask again. Why are you taking a walk at eleven-thirty at night clear across town from where you live?”
Preissing’s eyes darted back and forth between the two officers. “I like Corbin Park. It’s a nice place to walk.”
“Oh, that’s believable,” Sully said. “Do you have any warrants, Mr. Preissing?”
“I’ve never been arrested.”
“Guess what?” Sully said. “That wasn’t my question. You can still have a warrant out for your arrest whether or not you’ve ever been arrested before.”
“So what?”
Sully turned toward Battaglia. “He’s starting to sound like you. I’m definitely arresting him.”
Before Battaglia could answer, Chisolm’s voice came over the radio. “Adam-112, that would be a negative on the complainant knowing Preissing.”
Sully copied.
“Put him the car,” he said to Battaglia. “Then we’ll figure this out.”
Battaglia patted down Preissing, checking for any weapons.
“You can’t hold me,” Preissing said.
“Sure we can.”
“On what probable cause?”
“You’re acting suspicious.”
“That’s not a crime. I want my lawyer.”
“Trespassing is a crime,” Sully told him. “Just because Rover’s dead doesn’t mean you can move into his dog house.”
Preissing stared at Sully. “Is everything funny to you?”
Sully grinned at him. “No, but your situation here sure is.”
“What’s your badge number?” he demanded.
“Get in the car,” Battaglia said and slid Preissing into the back seat of the patrol car.
“Why do you have to fuzz them up like that?” he asked after he’d slammed the back door and stepped away from the car.
“That’s my job. Just like it’s your job when I’m searching them. It’s called cooperation. You know, teamwork?”
“Whatever. What do you think about this guy?”
“Data channel come back yet?”
Battaglia shook his head. “Not yet. You think he’s a peeping tom?”
Sully frowned. “Sorta feels a little like that, don’t it?”
“Sorta. But not quite. He’s too confident.”
“I agree. Not milquetoast enough. But definitely suspicious.”
“Definitely.”
“No question the guy was up to something.”
“Definitely.”
“He looks too old to be out prowling cars,” Sully observed.
“No backpack, either.”
“And no burglar tools of any kind.”
“Nope.”
“Big goddamn mystery.” Sully sighed. “So we’ll do a field interview report for Tower on him.”
“Definitely.”
“Who knows? Maybe he’s the rapist.”
Battaglia shrugged. “And maybe I’m Vito Corleone.”
“You wish.”
Thomas Chisolm pulled into the alley. He parked behind their patrol car and got out. On his way past their car, he peered into the back seat at Preissing.
“You recognize him, Tom?” Sully asked.
Chisolm shook his head. “What’s this guy’s story?” he asked them.
“We were just discussing that.”
“You come up with any answers?”
“Not really,” Sully said. “He almost acts like a peeping tom, but not quite. He’s got no backpack for prowling cars or burglar tools on him.”
“Maybe he dumped them after he spotted you guys,” Chisolm suggested.
Sully and Battaglia both raised their eyebrows and looked at each other.
“Why didn’t you think of that?” Battaglia asked.
“Because I’m Irish,” Sully told him.
Chisolm chuckled. “I’ll check.” He turned and walked westward down the alley, shining his light and looking in trash cans.
“Adam-122?”
“This better be good,” Battaglia muttered and keyed the mike. “Go ahead.”
“Preissing is in locally with a clear driver’s license. His only entry is a domestic order of protection.”
Both men smiled at each other in triumph.
“Why didn’t you think of that?” Sully asked.
“Because I’m Italian,” Battaglia answered.
Halfway down the alley, Chisolm stopped searching and strolled back toward the patrol cars.
Battaglia asked the dispatcher, “Who is the protected party?”
“Lorraine Kingston,” Irina advised them.
“That’s not the complainant,” Chisolm told them as he approached. “Her name was Sandy something.”
“What’s Lorraine’s address?” Battaglia asked into his shoulder microphone.
“405 West Cleveland.”
Sully smiled. “Sandy the Neighbor spotted Victor the Stalker and called it in.”
“Probably,” Battaglia agreed. He keyed his mike. “Pull a copy of the protection order and give me the terms, please.”
“Already done,” Irina replied. “He is restricted from being within two city blocks of Lorraine Kingston’s home or business, as well as being restricted from contacting her in any fashion.”
“Copy,” Battaglia said and turned to Sully and Chisolm. “Well, it doesn’t get much easier than that, does it?”
“Should we do a show-up?” Sully asked. “Get Sandy the Neighbor over here to ID Preissing?”
“On a misdemeanor?”
“It’s a domestic violence. You know how they are about DVs.”
&
nbsp; “They who?”
“Sergeants, prosecutors,” Sully smiled. “Italians. You name it.”
Battaglia sighed, not taking the bait. “Look, we caught him within the two blocks. Let’s just book him.”
Sully shrugged. “Fine. What about the trespass?”
Battaglia frowned. Sully raised his hands in apology.
“I’ll go back and get the rest of the neighbor’s information,” Chisolm said.
“Thanks, Tom.”
Battaglia popped the back door. “Get out,” he told Preissing.
“About time,” Preissing said, stepping out of the car awkwardly. “Now take off these cuffs before I call my lawyer.”
“How about you call him from jail, smart-ass?” Battaglia said.
“Huh?”
“What were you doing over at Lorraine’s house?” Battaglia asked. He began to search Preissing, removing items as he came across them.
“Lorraine who? What are you doing?”
Sully shook his head and clucked his tongue while Battaglia searched. “The stupid routine isn’t going to impress the judge.”
“Maybe it’s not a routine,” Battaglia said.
“I want my lawyer,” Preissing said. “Joel Harrity. Right now.”
Battaglia finished his search. “Like I said, call him from jail. Now get back in the car.” He guided Preissing into the back seat and closed the door.
“Lorraine who,” Sully muttered. “What an idiot.”
Battaglia gathered Preissing’s property. “No way is this guy Tower’s rapist,” he told Sully. “He’s just a loser stalking his girlfriend.”
Sully shrugged. “Still worth an FI.”
“Waste of paper.”
The two got into the patrol car. Sully reset the mileage on the odometer and put the car in gear. Battaglia advised dispatch, “Adam-122, we’re en route to jail with a male for a protection order violation. Mileage is reset.”
“Copy.”
Battaglia reached for the stereo. “Country, you figure?”
Sully shook his head. “Heavy metal.”
“Forget that. That shit hurts my head.” Battaglia turned on the stereo and channel surfed. When he landed on the oldies station, a familiar tune came through the speakers. He grinned broadly and turned it up, fading the volume to the rear.
“Classic,” Sully said.
“Fitting, too,” Battaglia answered, laughing at his own joke. He sang along with the chorus. “Well if you feel like loving me…if you got the notion…I second that emotion.”
“Turn that shit down!” Preissing yelled from the back seat, his voice muffled by the music.
Both officers grinned. Sully took over. “Hey!” he sang, “So if you feel like giving Lorraine a lifetime of devotion…I second that emotion!
“That’s fucking harassment!”
“Hey!” Sully and Battaglia crooned together. “I second that emotion!”
“You guys are assholes,” Preissing hollered.
Sully looked at Battaglia and shrugged. Battaglia shrugged back.
“He’s probably right,” Sully said.
“Screw him,” said Battaglia. “He’s going to jail.”
FOUR
Tuesday, April 16th
Day shift
0911 hours
Detective Tower tapped his pen against the open file folder. His left hand curled around a cup of coffee. He’d read and re-read the contents in the hope that something new would jump out at him, but all he’d succeeded in doing was giving himself a headache.
He took a sip of coffee and reviewed Giovanni’s report again. Although the use of the unique term “whammo” was interesting, he didn’t see any plausible avenues for investigative follow-up. He’d conduct a follow-up interview with Patricia Reno in a day or two, as well as review the medical evidence, but he was skeptical that anything new would come up.
He pulled out the FI written by Officer O’Sullivan the previous night. Victor Preissing sounded promising at first, but as soon as he read about the old girlfriend, his heart sank. The guy was stalking his ex-girlfriend, that was all.
Tower pursed his lips. Maybe. But maybe he was striking back at his ex-girlfriend through another woman. Psychological transference or whatever the textbooks called it. It happened.
Tower frowned. He doubted it. Still, it was worth checking out. Hell, everything was at this stage, since he didn’t have anything else to go on. Any minute now, the Crawfish would be-
As if on cue, Lieutenant Crawford strode into the Sexual Assault unit office. Tower tried to hide his disappointment.
“Where are we?” Crawford asked gruffly.
Several smart alec answers occurred to Tower, but he suppressed them. “On the Reno rape, you mean?”
Crawford narrowed his eyes. “No. On the JFK assassination, Tower. What do you think?”
Tower couldn’t resist. “I think Oswald did it, but there’s no way he acted alone.”
A few cubicles down, someone tittered. Georgina, the unit secretary, lowered her eyes and seemed to be concentrating on her keyboard.
“Very funny,” Crawford answered, dismissing the joke. He gave Tower an impatient wave. “Spill.”
Tower leaned back in his chair and sighed. “It isn’t good.”
Crawford shrugged and motioned for him to continue.
“Well, for starters, the lab is backed up two weeks,” Tower said, “so I don’t know if we got anything at all on forensics.”
“Order a rush,” Crawford said. “Anything short of homicide, this should get precedence.”
“It won’t do any good. Diane is in court for the next week on a murder case from last year. One of Browning’s cases, I think. I was lucky she was able to come out to the scene of the Reno rape. Anyway, with her in court, that leaves Cameron alone except for the intern.”
“We need to hire another forensics person,” Crawford muttered. “Okay, what else have you turned up?”
“Nothing. No witnesses in the area, despite a canvass. I’ve checked with Renee in Crime Analysis for registered sex offenders on file, especially any recently released, that showed anything close this M.O.”
“What’d ya get there?”
Tower shook his head. “If you sort the by ‘blitz attack,’ you get half the database. If you sort any more specifically, you get almost no one.”
“Almost?” Crawford raised his eyebrows hopefully.
“Yeah, almost. A few names popped up, but all were either dead, incarcerated or living out of state.”
Crawford grunted.
Tower continued. “There’s no similar instances city-wide in the last ninety days and none in that immediate area. If we expand the area a little bit, there are some incidents, but all of them are date rape scenarios with known suspects.”
“And there’s nothing in her background to look at?”
“No. She’s clean.”
“I don’t mean just criminal,” Crawford said. “I mean situational.”
Tower clenched his jaw. Don’t tell me how to do my job, Lieutenant-never-was-a-detective Crawfish!
Crawford was still eyeing him, so he forced his jaw to relax and answered. “Nothing there, either. She’s married, has a couple of kids and stays at home with them.”
“No guy on the side?”
Tower turned up his palms. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“You ask her, that’s how,” Crawford snapped back. “Maybe she had a boyfriend or some Good Time Charlie on the side. If she dumped him, he might have decided to get some revenge on her.”
Tower ground his teeth. “I don’t think that’s it.”
“Have you got something better to run down?”
He glanced down at the case file. “Uh, actually, yeah.”
“What?”
Tower snatched up O’Sullivan’s FI. “A couple of patrol cops caught a guy slinking around last night in the same neighborhood as the rape. I figured I’d interview him.”
Crawford
regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “That sounds promising. Do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crawford pointed at him. “But then check into that other angle. And anything else that comes up, too, no matter how small.”
Tower nodded that he understood. Crawford turned on his heels and headed back to his office in the Major Crimes division.
Georgina glanced up at Tower and raised her eyebrows a bit. Tower shrugged, as if to say, “What a jerk, huh?”
It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to investigate a rape. He’d been in the Sex Crimes Unit for six years. In that time, he’d handled all kinds of rapes and molestation cases. Why was Crawford so intense about this one?
But Tower knew why. Most rapes were committed by someone known to the victim. The bulk of the case involved proving what happened and whether there was consent, not discovering the suspect. True stranger-to-stranger rapes were rare.
And, Tower figured, that type of rape was a little unsettling. Some unknown man out in the community committed a violent sexual assault and no one knew who he was. That’s why Crawford was so keen on Tower’s progress on the case.
Still, Tower groused, does he have to be such a hard ass about it?
He picked up the telephone and called over to jail. He had to schedule an interview with Victor Preissing.
1109 hours
The prostitutes were thick on East Sprague even though it was the middle of the day. He’d noticed that the prostitute population went in cycles. During the summer, it was like high tide. The whores flooded the streets, some of them from out of town and not bad looking. They wore revealing clothing, sauntering up and down the sidewalk just like the movies. Winter was more like low tide. The hotter-looking ones moved on, leaving behind the fat ones wrapped in long winter coats and the crack heads who didn’t know enough to wear coats.
Aside from that, though, there were mini-cycles in which they went from thick to thin to thick again. He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that the cycles were a direct result of police enforcement action. When undercover cops busted the hookers, they tended to move on for a while or take it indoors. When they did stings on the johns, business slowed to a trickle, so they moved on.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew how things worked.
She was attractive, he thought, as he watched her walk slowly along the sidewalk. Her blond hair was teased up in a mid-eighties poof and a black one piece skirt hugged her too-thin body. Probably one of the crack addicts, he reasoned. Which meant she worked for cheap. Still, he thought she was attractive, for a fucking whore.
